She was hastening to meet her brother, yet she did not offer him one congratulation on his safe return. "My brother," she cried, "your grandfather is dead. He lies cold and still, as the large buffalo when he has ceased to struggle with our hunters. Go to his lodge and tell him of your prisoners, and your scalps. For me, I will go myself to shed tears. I will follow the fresh tracks of the deer, and by the wakeen-stone,[11] in the prairie, I will sit and weep where no eye can see me but the Great Spirit's. While the moon walks through the sky, the spirits shall hear my voice."
She was listened to in silence, for the Indians always showed respect to We-har-ka; her being constantly with the war-chief had made them look upon her almost with reverence, as if she might have obtained from him some supernatural power.
"The Sioux listen to the words of a woman," said the old prisoner, as We-har-ka turned towards the prairie. "Why do they not make her a war-chief, and let her take them to battle?"
"We will," answered her brother, "when we go again to bring home old men. I would not have been troubled with your old carrion, but I thought to let my father return the kind treatment you once gave him; and I would kill you now, but that I would rather the women would do it."
"The Sioux are brave when their prisoners are bound," again taunted the prisoner; "let them do their will: the Chippeway fears neither fire nor death."
The rage of the Sioux was unbounded; the cold unconcern of their prisoner almost destroyed the pleasure of victory. The women clamorously demanded that he might be delivered over to them. They seized him, and moved forward to a large tree, whose massive trunk indicated its strength. Here they bound him with strong sinews and pieces of skin. His hands were tied in front, and a strong cord was passed about his waist, and with it he was fastened to the tree.
This was all the work of the women, and they evinced by their expedition and hideous laughs the pleasure they found in their employment.
The Sioux then went to see the body of their venerated chief; on their return they found their victim firmly secured to the tree. The son was bound at some little distance from the father, while the daughter was sitting, hiding her face between her hands, weeping for her father's situation. Pride had all gone, only affection occupied her heart. The old Chippeway was convinced now of his immediate sufferings; he had been tranquil and unmoved until the return of the warriors. Suddenly he shouted, in a loud voice, the wild notes of his death-song.